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THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 





‘Peace be unto you/' said the strange Hebrew at Baraca's side. 





THE FIGURE IN 
THE SAND 


BY 

JAQUELIN AMBLER CASKIE 

AUTHOR OF “nABALA” 



AMERICAN LIBRARY SERVICE 
PUBLISHERS 
500 Fifth Avenue 


New York 



Copyright, 1924 

BY 

Jaquelin Ambler CASKifi 


'All rights reserved 



To My Wife 

w 


V 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Desert Tribe. 13 

II. Carmina^ a Wild Flower of the 

Sahara. 21 

III. Benjamin^ the Jewish Merchant of 

Hadrumetrum. 27 

IV. Carbo and Taurus. 33 

V. Under Starry Skies. 39 

VI. The Attack. 45 

VII. Carmina Pleads. 51 

VIII. Carbons Story. 55 

IX. The Lone Wanderer. 61 

X. “He Hath Already Come”. 65 

XI. The Power of the Blood. 71 

XH. Benjamin^s Perfidy. 75 

XIII. The Handwriting on the Wall ... 81 

[ 7 ] 














CONTENTS 


RAFTER PACK 

XIV. The Last of the Barcas.85 

XV. The Magic of the Flute.93 

XVI. The Figure in the Sand ...... 99 

XVII, Amid the Sand Dunes. 105 


[83* 







CHAPTER I 

THE DESERT TRIBE 






THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


CHAPTER I 

THE DESERT TRIBE 

From the complete destruction of Rome’s great¬ 
est rival,—Carthage, in 146 B.C.,—her “eagled” 
banners advanced irresistibly in whatsoever direc¬ 
tion her emperors or generals decreed. By the 
middle of the first century of the Christian Era 
she had reached the zenith of her power. Her 
domain stretched from the Pillars of Hercules 
to the arid plains of Arabia; from Germania, the 
home of the wild barbarians of the North, to the 
sand-duned wastes of Northern Africa. Within 
this vast area more than one hundred millions of 
people acknowledged fealty to the Caesars. 

The Mediterranean, upon whose bosom the 
commerce of the world for ages had been carried, 
^ was, in truth, a Roman lake whereon her iron- 
prowed triremes and towering quinqueremes ruled 
in stately pride. Here, too, outlined against a 
turquoise sky, the white sails of her merchantmen 
filled with friendly breezes or flapped lazily, 
awaiting the favor of the gods. 

As the armies of the Empire pushed their con- 
[15] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


quests forward, strongholds were reared in their 
wake; cities sprang up as if by magic; the blood 
of the conquerors mingled with that of the con¬ 
quered. Citadel after citadel raised its bristling 
head throughout all the territory which once was 
Carthaginian and even the desert was being sub¬ 
dued by the ingenuity and perseverence of Roman 
engineers. 

Date-palms, tamarisks and luxuriant climbing 
vines marked courses of new canals; high stone 
aqueducts carried water across the trackless, 
shifting sands to cities growing within the shad¬ 
ows of these impregnable fortresses. And tri¬ 
umphal arches, commemorating some Roman vic¬ 
tory, became no uncommon sight where the winds 
of the Sahara, since the beginning of time, were 
wont to sweep the golden grains into ever-chang¬ 
ing fantastic shapes. 

The desert tribes, accustomed to no law save 
their own will, and desiring liberty at whatever 
cost, refused to accept the inevitable. They plun¬ 
dered the rich caravans going to and fro, pil¬ 
laged the cities and attacked the weaker castles, 
until, at last, grown weary of such interference 
with her trade, the African province of Byzacium, 
with assistance of Roman legionaries, made de¬ 
termined war against them. Band after band was 
exterminated, broken up, or forced to flee far 
from the ruthless hand of Rome. 

On a small, palm-fringed oasis, some hundreds 
[ 16 ] 



THE DESSERT TRIBE 


of miles to the south and east of the ruins of 
ancient Carthage, lithe, bronzed figures moved 
uneasily, restlessly. Frowns marred the features 
of the men as their sullen glances fell on the dried 
date trees, the brown foliage, the shrivelled, 
partly-formed fruit Some muttered curses as 
the plaintive voice of a child was raised, begging 
for water, while throughout the gathering dry 
tongues attempted to moisten parched and swollen 
lips. The relentless, defying desert was accom¬ 
plishing that which the might of Rome could 
not,—the destruction of the Vespae, a tribe which 
from the burning and sacking of Carthage had 
been a thorn in Roman flesh. 

Within a doorless hut, seemingly unmindful of 
the dissension without, two men were seated be¬ 
side a handsomely carved ebony table, and Barca, 
a tall, lithe, handsome youth, bronzed by the trop¬ 
ical sun, addressed his companion, a man of enor¬ 
mous size and prodigious strength: 

“So the Vespae despair! Descendants of Carth¬ 
aginians who sought freedom in the desert now 
prefer slavery!’’ 

“Do you call this freedom?” sneeringly asked 
Taurus, the giant. “This scorching heat, these 
burning sands which are burying our homes, kill¬ 
ing our palms, drinking our water? Do you call 
this freedom?” 

“Perhaps you prefer a fight with Numidian 
lions in the arena at Rome, Taurus, or would 
[17] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


exercise your bulging muscles as a galley slave,” 
the youth replied with curling lips, his imperious 
eyes meeting those of the battle-scarred warrior. 
“Though our efforts may prove no more to the 
Roman lion than the sting of a wasp, we should 
remember always—our Inheritance. No longer 
do we of Punic blood make human sacrifices or 
bow before graven images, but are worshippers 
of the one true God,—that of Abraham, Isaac 
and Jacob. When the great Messiah comes, think 
you He will forget us? Nay, nay, Taurus: again 
shall we of Carthaginian blood rule in pride the 
seas; Rome shall be but a mass of black and 
crumbling ruins,—cursed by God and man! 

“What if our numbers are few? Have you 
forgotten how the walls of Jericho fell at the 
blast of the Jewish trumpet?” 

Taurus, his sullen face distorted with passion, 
cried: “Do you think you can fool me as your 
great-grandsire, the Young Hannibal, did his peo¬ 
ple? Nay, Barca, he but adopted this tale of a 
Deliverer from his Jewish wife so he could hold 
this band together.” 

The giant leaned across the table, menacingly, 
adding: 

“What has this God ever done for us? Noth¬ 
ing, by TanitI but let us be driven from one end 
of these barren wastes to another. You are a 
fool, Barca. If this story be true. He would 
have come ages ago and delivered us out of our 
[181 



THE DESSERT TRIBE 


living deaths. Ah! you can, perhaps, deceive the 
Vespae, but the eyes of Taurus look into your very 
soul. But if such a God comes,” he continued, a 
taunting smile upon his lips, “do you think He 
would care for us? The rich Jew, Benjamin of 
Hadrumetrum, saith not, but only the seed of 
Abraham. 

“Six months since when I was in Alexandria to 
collect tribute from the Egyptian merchants, I 
met a man who told a strange tale,—of one who 
was crucified in Jerusalem,—whom the Judeans 
mockingly called ‘The King of the Jews.’ 

“Yea, Barca, the curtain of the Holy of Holies 
was rent asunder, the earth trembled; darkness 
fell over all the land though it was but the fifth 
hour.” 

The giant paused, his blood-shot eyes glowed 
triumphantly. “Barca,” he sneered, “some say 
He was the Messiah,—a poor, penniless Gali¬ 
lean!” 


[ 19 ] 







CHAPTER II 


CARMINA, 


WILD FLOWER OF THE SAHARA 



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CHAPTER II 


CARMINA, A WILD FLOWER OF THE SAHARA 

Barca, a-mount a coal black Arabian, scanned 
eagerly the naked dunes to the southward. Above 
him the brown, dried leaves of a sycamore rustled 
and murmured in the hot, gentle breeze and 
partly shielded his mantle-clad form from the 
burning rays of the sun. His stem, set figure 
relaxed; a boyish gladness suffused his features 
as he discerned a sudden drift of dust. 

The steed whinnied and as the rider’s knees 
pressed against his shiny withers, leaped forward 
and out into the desert. 

“Moloch,” Barca softly asked, “can even you 
tell when Carmina, the glorious, the desirable 
one, is nigh? Do your nostrils get a whiff as of 
some fragrant flower? But, perhaps, you only 
feel the throbbing of my heart,—the fever in my 
blood. Faster! faster! Moloch,” he cried joy¬ 
fully, “it is she!” 

A shapely girlish arm was raised in answer to 
his shout of welcome; a soft, musical voice laughed 
challengingly and a glimmering sand dune hid 
from Barca the maiden whose lustrous tresses fell 
about her in glad abandon. 

[ 23 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


Rounding the sharp turn of a hilloch, he came 
upon her, flushed and panting beside her horse. 
He leaped to the ground and crushed her warm 
body to his: fiercely, he caressed her hair, her 
luminous eyes, her dimpled cheeks. Tempestu¬ 
ously her rounded bosom rose and fell; her long, 
black lashes closed dreamily over dark, smoulder¬ 
ing orbs and she raised her lips to his. 

The heat of the desert sun waned; the western 
sky became alive with ever-changing brilliant 
colors,—crimson, rose, now spun-gold, streaked 
here and there with turquoise and sapphire tints. 
The summits of the dunes reflected dazzlingly 
the evening sun’s rays, their sides varying from 
a purplish hue to a steely gray; the long ridges 
between giving forth a subdued reddish glow, and 
shadows crept up from the vaUeys, but the lovers 
knew it not. 

“Carmina, my own,” the youth whispered, 
“never again shall I know desolation, nor shall 
the days seem months, the months years. Ah, 
Carmina, I love you, love you, love you. Mine, 
all mine!” 

She clung the more closely to him and her lips 
revealed the depths of her love, her desire, her 
very soul. 

Suddenly she drew away from him and looked 
intently, questioningly, into his burning eyes, ask¬ 
ing: “You would make me your wife,—the bearer 
of your children? The mother of the Barcas to 
[ 24 ] 



CARMINA, A WILD FLOWER 

come? What if with the blood of the nomads^ 
of the desert was mingled that of the conqueror?” 

“Hush, Carmina. You have no Roman blood; 
you are all love, all beauty, compassion,—^life 
itself,” and he would have drawn her close again 
but she resisted, saying: “Your strange God, 
those of Rome and of the desert are my witnesses 
that I love you, wholly, utterly, but what do you 
know of me ? Out of the desert I come and into 
it I go,—^no one knows whence or whither. Nay, 
Beloved, not even you who are skilled as no other 
to follow trails in the sands. 

“Would marry me whose tracks are erased by 
the errant winds of the Sahara? Could you be 
happy, knowing not whence I come, whither I 
must go?” 

“Yea, Carmina, but never again shall the sands 
swallow you while I search in vain,” replied 
Barca, but she retreated, crying: “No! no! You 
could not be happy, and were I to tell you,—^you 
would spurn me,—hate me.” 

The bright jets of flame in the nomad’s eyes 
died: no word did he utter as the girl came for¬ 
ward and kissed his brow, nor, when with sobs 
racking every fibre of her beautiful body, she 
mounted her horse and stole away,—^lost amid 
the ever-deepening shadows of the dunes. 


[ 25 ] 




CHAPTER III 


BENJAMIN, THE JEWISH MERCHANT OF 
HADRUMETRUM 



CHAPTER III 


BENJAIilIN, THE JEWISH MERCHANT OF 
HADRUMETRUM 

A FAINT cloud was visible in the west, otherwise 
nothing disturbed the azure of sky above or the 
billowy sea of gold as it stretched away, finally 
to be lost and mingled with the horizon. More 
distinct it became to the watching nomads; small 
black spots appeared, gradually developing into 
camels, some with white-clothed attendants, others 
laden with precious goods. 

Silently except for the soft thud of camels’ 
broad feet, the caravan advanced. The solitude, 
the mystery, the desolation of the trackless wastes 
sealed lips, though here and there some moved 
as if in voiceless prayer. 

A shout arose from the nomads as they recog¬ 
nized the long, white, flowing beard and the ema¬ 
ciated figure of Benjamin, the Hebrew merchant 
of Hadrumetrum, whose claw-like fingers waved 
a greeting. No longer did their desert life seem 
mean, for Benjamin brought his tribute in the 
form of rich wines and supplies. 

^ 

[291 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


Benjamin grasped Barca’s outstretched hand, 
saying: 

“Generous son of the desert, who are to me 
as one born of my flesh, you know not what sacri¬ 
fices I made to bring hither this tribute. Three 
caravans, loaded with frankincense, myrrh, 
papyri, and costly draperies have I lost, though 
I pay tribute to all the eastern chiefs, but even 
worse than this has befallen me, noble youth. 
Since the Judeans rebelled against Csesar the gov¬ 
ernors and others within Hadrumetrum perse¬ 
cute me,—tearing from my hands the little I now 
possess.” 

“So much for having a Roman master,” replied 
Barca listlessly. “But you are wealthy enough to 
lose twenty such caravans besides what Carbo 
and his followers may steal.” 

The merchant, stroking his beard with thin, 
trembling fingers, continued: “A fever these 
many years, Barca, has burned its way through 
my worn frame. I am weary in mind, sick in body. 
Were it not so, I could the better withstand my 
misfortunes,—the better oppose the tyrants sit¬ 
ting yonder in Hadrumetrum.” 

For some moments the young chieftain seemed 
lost in thought, but suddenly his dark eyes looked 
searchingly into the small, shifting one of the 
Hebrew and he asked in lowered tones: 

“When do you expect the Messiah?” 

“Soon,—very soon, Barca. The legions of 
[ 30 ] 



BENJAMIN, THE JEWISH MERCHANT 


Rome shall be crushed; then,—ah, then shall mag¬ 
nificent temples such as King Solomon’s be raised 
for every Jew,—nor will he forget you. Nomad. 

“The world shall bow before him; shall lay 
tribute at His feet,” replied Benjamin fervently. 

“Then you think this sect,—known as ‘Chris¬ 
tians,’—which reports say has spread even to the 
Tiber, is, in fact, idolatrous?” asked Barca. 

Benjamin’s face grew deathly pale; fear leaped 
into his small, shrunken eyes as he hoarsely made 
reply: 

“Do you think we of priestly race could fail 
to know? We Jews, the Chosen people of God? 
Did this Jesus free Judea from her bondage? 
Make all nations of the earth kneel before Him? 
Fool! fool! you are, Barca, to question.” 

“Calm yourself,” commanded the nomad an¬ 
grily, “before you arouse within me passions like 
unto the wind storms of the Sahara. Hide then 
whither you will, the scorching sands sift through, 
—burn you,—smother you. But you are indeed 
sick in mind and body,” he added more kindly. 
“I know little of the teachings of the Christians, 
but from the numbers I hear who are worshipping 
this Jesus, perhaps, in truth, the world will soon 
be lying prostrate at His feet.” 

The Hebrew’s eyes glowed with a mad light, 
his hands clenched and he hissed: 

“You accursed blasphemer! Never again shall 
I pay tribute to you; instead, I shall send the 
[31J 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


legions of Rome to crush the one who dares to 
prophecy thus to—” his voice wavered, his eye¬ 
lids closed, his arms fell helpless to his sides. 

“To one who helped to crucify Him,” whis¬ 
pered the agonized Jew. 


[ 32 ] 



CHAPTER IV 


CARBO AND TAURUS 






















CHAPTER IV 


CARBO AND TAURUS 

Hadrumetrum, some seventy miles southeast of 
Carthage, was founded by the sea-loving Phoeni¬ 
cians prior to the settlement of the ancient rival 
of Rome. At first the grain and fruit from the 
wonderfully rich lands to the north and west 
found outlet to foreign countries through her 
rather inferior harbor. She, too, became the ter- 
minous of the caravan route crossing the great 
African deserts, bringing from the unknown hin¬ 
terland great quantities of ivory, spices, gold, 
ostrich feathers, and, of still greater importance, 
slaves. Thither came, also, the vessels of many 
lands for salt from the lakes and lagoons of 
Southern Byzacium. 

But it was Carthage and not Hadrumetrum, or 
the still more aged Phoenician towns of Utica and 
Tunis, which was destined to dispute with the 
Roman Republic for the mastery of the world. 
By degrees the merchant princes of Carthage, 
whose harbor was vastly superior, obtained both 
the inland and foreign trade. Hadrumetrum fell 
from her state of magnificence; became, at last, 
[35] 




THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


but a resting place for man and beast from and 
to the deserts,—an outpost for Carthaginian 
armies. 

Alliance or submission to the great African city 
was distasteful to her, and when Scipio besieged 
Carthage the gates of Hadrumetrum were flung 
wide to his armies; her harbor to the triremes 
of his navy. Scipio showed his gratitude by leav¬ 
ing her walls and buildings intact; her inhabitants 
free upon owning allegiance to Rome. 

Thereafter Hadrumetrum’s importance rapidly 
grew, but this was soon checked by the merchants 
from Italy who flocked to Utica,—there conduct¬ 
ing much of the commerce formerly enjoyed by 
Carthage. It was, in great measure, through this 
influx of tradesmen that Roman customs, manners 
and language were stamped upon the peaceful 
natives. Nor did the warlike tribes of Northern 
Sahara entirely escape this Romanizing effect. 

Chief among the governors residing at Hadru¬ 
metrum, the capital of Byzacium, 68 A.D., was 
Marois Fulvius Carbo. For a score of years he 
had been entrusted with the command of the army, 
and he it was who, twelve years before, had dis¬ 
persed or destroyed all the turbulent tribes with 
exception of the Vespae. And it was to him that 
Benjamin outlined a plan for the destruction of 
the Vespae; to which end the help of Taurus was 
sought. 

* 


[ 36 ] 



CARBO AND TAURUS 


Enviously Taurps noted the luxury, the lavish 
display of extravagance within Garbo’s palace. 
The mosaic walls hung with richly embroidered 
tapestries, the rare and costly orange-tinted silks 
from India, the grotesquely carved tables of 
ebony and cedar, ivory stools with mythical fig¬ 
ures, bronze and draped couches ornamented with 
precious metals, bright copper furnishings from 
the Isle of Cyprus, and the multi-colored Baby¬ 
lonian carpets. 

Glass prisms and crystal phials reflected irrl- 
descent rays, while suspended from the gilded 
dome hung bronze lamps adorned with the ame¬ 
thyst, topaz and sparkling diamond, presenting 
strange and beautiful designs. 

From his stool beside an ebony table the giant 
discerned in the fragrant gardens without, tall, 
stately lilies swaying gracefully In the summer 
breeze and goldfish darting among the lotus 
blooms. Beyond, in seemingly never ending 
stream, passed chariots caparisoned In purple and 
gold. 

These, and the palace Itself of spotted Nu- 
midian marble, held him fascinated, for nowhere, 
not even in Alexandria, had he seen such show 
of wealth. 

Opposite the desertman was Garbo, the gov¬ 
ernor, whose firm mouth relaxed into a smile as 
he poured upon the polished, enameled surface 
[ 37 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 

of the table a pile of glowing gems interspersed 
with golden coins. He knew from the avaricious 
light in Taurus’ eyes that the giant would betray 
the Barca. 


[ 38 ] 



CHAPTER V 


UNDER STARRY SKIES 


CHAPTER V 


UNDER STARRY SKIES 

The twitter of birds among the whispering foli¬ 
age of palm and lig trees was hushed as one by 
one the camp fires of the Vespae flickered and 
died. Overhead stars scintillated clear and cold 
from their canopy of deepest blue. 

Thus the peaceful, mysterious African night 
lulled her children to rest, but one paced back 
and forth beyond the gleam of dying embers. He 
tried anew to shake off the burden which was 
crushing his spirit, but no sound escaped from 
his tightly compressed lips. At last, grown weary, 
he flung himself upon the sands and with difficulty 
brought himself to plan the impending attack of 
Hadrumetrum, for he had agreed to Taurus’ sug¬ 
gestion that the city be captured before Carbo 
could strike. 

So preoccupied was the young chieftain that 
he failed to notice the slight figure of a girl mov¬ 
ing gracefully, noiselessly through the camp, ex¬ 
amining the upturned, lean, bronzed faces, stop¬ 
ping anon to scan the desert. 

Presently her fingers touched his shoulders, her 
lips whispered his name, but Barca roughly 
[41] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


thrust the girl from him and strode off rapidly 
towards the embers now casting few fitful shadows 
across the sleeping nomads. He paused uncer¬ 
tainly; returned, called her name o’er and o’er, 
but friendly dunes hid from his troubled eyes the 
quivering form, the flushed, tear-stained face of 
this glorious daughter of the Sahara. 

* * 5|f 

Days passed and still the nomads lingered,— 
lingered while their hereditary chieftain, in 
gloomy silence, watched the distant sands for a 
sign which never came,—a sudden drift of dust 
to the southward. 

At last, within a grove of sycamores, the far- 
reaching limbs festooned in luxuriant climbing 
vines, Barca and Taurus conversed in council 
while the desertmen formed themselves into two 
columns. 

“Yea, Barca,” replied Taurus to a question 
from his chief, “every detail has been arranged 
with friends in Hadrumetrum: the south-gate will 
be opened for you; the sea-gate for me.” And 
as the giant moved off to take his place at the 
head of one of the newly formed lines, a gloat¬ 
ing smile lit up, but only to disfigure, his gross 
features. 

* * * 

They passed the great salt lakes and lagoons 
of Southern Byzacium, glistening and dancing like 
[ 42 ] 



UNDER STARRY SKIES 


liquid silver in the moonlight. And as they ad¬ 
vanced, more frequent became the hedges of 
prickly pear with its purplish fruit; the little farms 
of russet-hued grains and emerald vineyards laden 
with luscious grapes. The oftener, too, gardens 
filled with fragrant roses and swaying lilies, and 
denser grew the foliage of the fig and laurel trees 
from which twittered and chirped gorgeously 
plumed birds. 

And ever it seemed to Barca that just ahead 
of him the silvery moonbeams played upon the 
beautiful, sad face of Carmina. 


[ 43 ] 



CHAPTER VI 


THE ATTACK 



CHAPTER VI 


THE ATTACK 

One by one the glittering stars faded,—were 
plucked from their violet setting as if by an 
unseen hand. A moonstone glow rose above the 
distant sapphire sea, and the palm and fig trees 
silhouetted against the amber sky but partly hid 
winding canals reflecting the topaz paleness of 
dawn. 

Now garnet the east,—ruby-tinted, as the Med¬ 
iterranean began to sparkle with brilliant colors; 
its exquisite blue shading off into a delicate green 
where it neared the shore, upon which rhythmically 
rose and fell small phosphorescent breakers. 

The superbly mounted nomads moved swiftly 
toward the capital of Byzacium, slumbering so 
peacefully, so securely within its turrcted walls. 
And along the water-front faint lights glided 
hither and thither, snowy sails flapped and filled 
with the cooling breezes. Colorful flamingoes flew 
above the harbor, and on the gilded domes of 
marble temples storks stretched their white wings 
preparatory for flight. 

The columns of horsemen separated. One, the 
powerful, swarthy Taurus in the van, swung to 
147 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


the right; the other, led by Barca,—^his body en¬ 
cased in ancient Carthaginian scale-gold armor,— 
moved rapidly in the direction of the south-gate, 
which swung open upon his approach, and he,, 
with his tribesmen close behind, surged through. 

Then, from either side, legionaries with short, 
two-edged swords closed in upon the nomad’s 
flanks. A clarion’s note filled the air: another 
and another mingled with the war-cries of men, 
the neighs of wounded beasts, the clang of armor, 
the ring of steel on steel. The earth trembled 
beneath the impact of Vespae and Roman, while 
from points of vantage upon the walls native 
archers held to bow poisoned arrows. 

The orders of centurions died hoarsely in their 
throats as the desertmen, with Barca constantly 
in the forefront, hewed with dripping swords their 
way. Bending low over their horses’ withers they 
lunged, cut and thrust. 

But as the sunshine broke and shimmered over 
helmet, shield and swirling sword the legion¬ 
aries turned and fled through a fast forming orbis^ 
or hollow square, and before this dreaded forma¬ 
tion the cavalry recoiled, broke,—retreated in dis¬ 
order before the ever-present javelin points. 

Arrows now hurtled upon the disorganized 
nomads and Barca raised a silver trumpet to his 
lips. Again and again the brassy martial call re¬ 
sounded above the din of battle, but no answering 
blast came from Taurus. 

[ 48 ] 



THE ATTACK 


Once more the Roman foot soldiers rushed 
upon the broken, shattered ranks of the desert- 
men, who yielded, slowly, stubbornly, but ever 
backward they were driven over the mangled 
bodies of the dead and dying. 

Suddenly in the gateway loomed the enormous 
and almost naked figure of Taurus. For an in¬ 
stant he stood still, surveying with triumphant 
eyes the scene before him; then, his great battle- 
axe raised aloft, leaped forward into the fray. 
But beneath his powerful strokes fell, not the 
soldiers of Rome, but his own comrades,—the 
nomads of the desert. 

^ ^ 

Taurus and those horsemen whom he had led 
and who had remained outside the city were all 
who retreated into the fastnesses of the desert, 
but somewhere along the turreted walls of Had- 
rumetrum a daughter of the sands pressed fiercely 
her throbbing heart and watched with sickening 
dread a motionless figure in scale-gold armor. 


[ 49 ] 







CHAPTER VII 

CARMINA PLEADS 




CHAPTER VII 


CARMINA PLEADS 

Far to the southward the winds of the desert were 
burying beneath the sands the once smiling green 
meadows, the wild olive and palm trees of the 
Vespae. With no Barca to bend them to his iron 
will, the nomads had ended forever their struggle 
with the defying, relentless Sahara. Never more 
would they dispute with Rome for the possession 
of these barren wastes. 

Meanwhile, beneath the governor’s palace in 
Hadrumetrum, their former chieftain paced back 
and forth the worn stone flagments of his dungeon. 
Days passed without his speaking, not even to the 
loquacious jailer who pushed at intervals frugal 
meals between the iron grating. And it was only 
when the strains of a subduing, enchanting melody 
reached his darkened cell that he could forget his 
irons, his helplessness, — the memories which 
seared his soul. 

Once from above, midst the clash of cymbals, 
he heard the voice of Carmina raised in happy 
song. How oft had she sung thus for him on 
desert sands; her body and arms swaying from 
side to side, her bare feet scarcely touching the 
[ 53 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


golden grains as she flung herself from one wild, 
barbaric dance into another! 

When a few hours later she called his name 
yearningly from the corridor without, he an¬ 
swered bitterly: “Go! You are indeed as the wild 
rose, but sharp thorns are hid beneath your gor¬ 
geous bloom; deadly vipers lie coiled among your 
scarlet petals; your fragrance is but the breath of 
death. Go! and may the curses of the gods be 
upon you forever,—^you wanton!’^ 

“I was but making Carbo merry with song and 
dance while I pleaded for you. Do not know 
that beneath the surface,—within my bosom,— 
my poor heart lies bleeding,—broken?” she re¬ 
torted, and turning, ran blindly, stumblingly 
through the darkened corridors. 

Low, plaintive notes of a flute reached the 
nomad. The music grew louder, the cadence 
faster. Now joyfully, rapturously, with fierce, 
wild abandon the weird, mellow strains rose and 
fell. Now soft and sweet the melody, such as 
a mother might lull to rest her babe or lover 
whisper to beloved. 

A discordant crash! as the beating of a bird 
fluttering against its iron cage; the wail of a soul 
in agony! Then, midst the sound of running 
water, the warbling notes swelled, ebbed and died. 


[ 54 ] 



CHAPTER VIII 

CARBO’S STORY 




CHAPTER VIII 

CARBONS STORY 

An hour, perhaps, afterward Carbo descended 
the flight of stairs and walked slowly toward the 
Barca’s dungeon. The bronze lamp he carried 
threw dark shadows across his ashen face and 
accentuated the contrast between his black, bushy 
brows and silvery hair. 

‘‘I come,” he said, “offering the right hand of 
fellowship. Barca, you need but swear never 
again to molest Roman authority and once more 
you can rest in your verdant isle in the arms of 
the swelling dunes. Yea, Nomad, I would give 
you freedom, not that you deserve clemency but 
because—I love Carmina. Just such a flower is 
she as the one I loved eighteen years ago,—a wild, 
glorious daughter of the sands!” 

For a moment there was silence, then dreamily 
the governor continued: 

“It was beside the great salt lagoon of South¬ 
ern Byzacium that I took to wife Nekla, a mem¬ 
ber of the Vespae. She forsook the teachings of 
your father and came with me to Hadrumetrum. 
Here we lived in a happiness which the gods them¬ 
selves might envy until I was called away to sub- 
[ 57 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


due an uprising among the natives of the western 
mountains. When I returned I found my Nekla,— 
my beautiful one,—dead! 

^‘A bejeweled dagger had been sunk deep into 
her full, round bosom and on a papyrus nearby 
I read these words: ‘She chose death rather than 
to live without you.’ That note was signed by a 
Barca,—^your own father! 

“Then it was that I determined to crush for 
all time the warlike desert tribes. You know 
how well I succeeded; the Vespae alone thwarted 
me. But, at last, our forces met on the dreary 
plains of the salt country. My troops were nearly 
routed when I beheld your father, as some thun¬ 
dering god, hewing with crimson sword my fleeing 
legionaries and native soldiery. 

“I forgot all,—^knew only that before me was 
he who had slain my bride. Sounding the charge, 
I spurred my stallion toward him. The sudden¬ 
ness and terrific force of the impact caused his 
weapon to fly from his hand, and his steed, sorely 
wounded by my sword, fell, — pinioning your 
father underneath. 

“My soldiers wheeled and poured into the 
ranks of the nomads veritable showers of darts 
and arrows, succeeding finally in driving them 
from the field. 

“Your father was released, and finding him 
but slightly hurt, I handed him a dagger, saying: 
‘Defend yourself, Barca, for this day your soul 
[ 58 ] 



GARBO’S STORY 


shall enter the shadows from which there is no 
return.’ 

^Need I add that we fought as two possessed 
of demons, while soldiers of Rome and native 
archers gathered around, awed by our uncanny 
skill and daring? But the years had weakened 
the Barca’s grip, dimmed his sight; otherwise, It 
might have been me who fell at last,—^pierced 
to the very heart.” 

The Roman paused, shrugged his broad, stoop¬ 
ing shoulders and added: 

“Barca, Carmina is this Nekla’s daughter— 
and mine!” 

* * 

The grating of a key, the creak of rusty hinges 
and the door to Barca’s cell opened. “Come,” 
commanded Garbo, and Barca followed the gov¬ 
ernor through the dimly-lighted corridors, up 
long, circling stairways to the draped and richly 
furnished chambers above, then out into the cool 
African night. 

* * 

Through rocky and arid wastes, strewn here 
and there with coarse grasses and briery, prickly 
plants, Barca toiled onward. He swam canals 
bordered with green shrubs and flowers, above 
which towered like silent sentinels the stately palm. 

The warring spirit of his Carthaginian ances¬ 
tors ever beckoned him onward across the sterile 
[ 59 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


wilderness, the treacherous sands; the indomitable 
courage and stamina of the desert nomad sus¬ 
tained his weary frame, weakened by confinement. 

No hand was extended to the travel-worn 
Barca on reaching his desert home; no bubbling 
spring was there to moisten his parched tongue, 
cool his fevered brow and burning throat. Only 
the naked limbs of trees and ruined huts were 
there to shelter him from the fierce rays of the 
sun. 

A cry of anguish escaped from his swollen, 
blistered lips; he staggered, fell; lay motionless; 
and then as if eager to obliterate for all time this 
once fertile oasis and bury the last of the Barcas, 
the sands of the Sahara grew more restless, cover¬ 
ing the still figure. 


[ 60 ] 



CHAPTER IX 


THE LONE WANDERER 





CHAPTER IX 


THE LONE WANDERER 

Carbo, aboard a trireme, watched the white walls 
and buildings of Hadrumetrum grow smaller and 
fainter. He sighed and turning to Carmina, said: 

“Would to the gods, Vespasian had not desired 
me in Rome, for fain would I dwell forever where 
lived my Nekla.’’ 

But the girl did not hear: she was intent upon 
watching the barely perceptible arid lands to the 
southward. 

At that moment, Barca lay outstretched within 
the ruins of a hut and a giant figure was carving 
with two-edged dagger these words upon the sand- 
strewn floor: 

“Did you think Taurus would allow you to 
die,—^you who have felt but the beginning of 
torture? Nay, Barca, for you are to become a 
lone desert wanderer,—without a shelter and 
without a friend.” 

“Come, Benjamin,” said the traitor, rising 
from his knees, “now I will go with you to 
Judea.” 

* * ^ 

The saffron and crimson bars, intermingling in 
perfect harmony, which illuminated the western 
[ 63 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


sky, paled; purple shadows of twilight shrouded 
the dunes and the dead oasis of the nomads. In 
the largest of the ruined huts a desertman bent 
low over a long papyrus, yellowed with age. For 
some minutes his lips moved; then, thrusting a 
quill into his arm, with his own blood, he struck 
his name from the records of the Barcas. 



CHAPTER X 


“he hath already come” 



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CHAPTER X 


“he hath already come” 

The valley in which lay the capital of Judea;. 
was alight with the beacon fires of Titus’ legions* 
Their saffron shafts illuminated the high, crooked 
walls, the frowning ramparts, and threw fitful 
shadows across the dome of the great Jewish 
temples and the pinnacles of her many stately 
buildings. 

Otherwise, nothing dimmed the radiance of the 
crescent moon and twinkling stars casting their 
mellow rays upon the limpid waters of rivulets 
which plunged down the slopes of the western 
mountains in cascades of silvery mists. And upon 
the lower hills, where, clustered among groves 
of gnarled oaks and spreading cedars, the stark 
and naked ruins of once handsome villas spoke 
silently, eloquently of the war, rapine and murder 
which had swept this fair land of Canaan. 

A sheet of crimson shot skyward above be¬ 
leaguered Jerusalem. Another and another! 
Dense spirals of white and black smoke curled 
upward, and hung like an ominous shroud over 
the city, through which, at times, were visible, 
blood-red tongues and blazing wreaths of fire.- 
[ 67 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


Angry flames leaped from tower to tower; from 
wall to wall: the whole atmosphere, as far as eye 
could see, shone with a rudy glow. 

On a mountain to the west, a lone figure stood 
watching the awe-inspiring scene. The russet light 
revealed a beardless face; handsome in its almost 
Grecian features, though the lines of suffering 
across his forehead, marred his manly beauty, and 
in the shadows of arched brows, his eyes smoul¬ 
dered with the slumbering fires of fierce passions. 

For months the youth had struggled onward 
across the desolate Sahara, the rock-strewn des¬ 
erts of Lybia,—now on horseback, now on drome¬ 
dary,—ever seeking the one who had betrayed 
him. His course had led him beneath the grim¬ 
faced Sphinx,—its history even then lost in the 
mists of antiquity; beside the impressive Pyramids 
to the thread-like, winding Nile. And, now Barca 
wondered bitterly if his search had not been in 
vain. 

Dark and threatening clouds suddenly obscured 
the sky; the wind blew in gusts; lightning flashed; 
the earth shook, and Barca, laughing mockingly, 
cried: 

“Burn on, O Jersusalem! Call now upon your 
Messiah who tarries, who will not come 1” 

A voice out of the darkness: “Dost not know 
He hath already come?” and the nomad in the 
next glare of Jove’s thunderbolts, saw beside him 
in native garb, an aged Jew with mobile features 
[ 68 ] 



'HE HATH ALREADY COME” 


and long, white, curling beard; whose eyes from 
beneath bushy, gray brows, looked compassion¬ 
ately into his. 

“Come, my son,” the Hebrew said. “Draw not 
away, but lend thy strong hand to guide my tot¬ 
tering steps, and I will show unto thee a sanctuary 
from all life’s storms.” 

And Barca,—he, who for months had scorned 
all friendly advances,—was led by the unknown 
stranger down the mountain path to shelter in 
the crumbling and charred remains of a palace. 
As lightning lit the interior of their refuge, the 
nomad’s breath came quickly, his eyes shone tri¬ 
umphantly for he saw before him, the gigantic 
figure of Taurus. 


[ 69 ] 







CHAPTER XI 

JHE POWER OF THE BLOOD 






















CHAPTER XI 


THE POWER OF THE BLOOD 

Before Taurus stood Benjamin, now meanly 
clothed and without jewel or adornment, whose 
plaintive voice rose above the noise of the storm. 

“Taurus, Taurus,” he was saying, “how can 
you blame me that the wealth which I promised 
you has been destroyed? Did I not enter Jerusa¬ 
lem through ghostly subterranean passages, as you 
commanded? Brave torture and death within the 
city where blood flows as water; where murder, 
plague and famine stalk naked? Is it my fault 
that my palaces have been plundered; that I, aged 
and broken, am a pauper?” 

“Cursed be the day you came and persuaded 
me to betray the Barca!” cried Taurus, and 
stretching forth his hands, he grasped the trem¬ 
bling merchant, whose screams rang piercingly. 

“Peace be unto you,” said the strange Hebrew 
at Barca’s side. “Listen and hear of Him who 
caused the deaf to hear, the blind to see and the 
lame to walk. Yea, who raised from the very 
grave, the dead. Learn of Him who died upon 
the cross at Golgotha that ye and I might not 
walk in darkness, but have the light of life.” 

[ 73 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 

The lightning ceased; the clouds broke and 
passed; and the stars shone again but still they 
listened as the aged stranger told again the since 
oft-repeated story of the Saviour of the World, 
and under the compelling pathos of the voice, 
he, who had travelled over the windswept Sahara 
and bare, rocky Libyan deserts, was powerless to 
strike the one before him. 

“O, my children,” the Hebrew said at last, 
“Will you not accept Him who asked from his 
cross: ‘Father, forgive them for they know not 
what they do?’ ” 

A laugh, wild and horrible, and Benjamin dis¬ 
appeared into the night. 

The aged Judean then addressed Taurus: “Re¬ 
member His words, my son: ‘Whosoever cometh 
to me, I will in no wise cast out’.” A smile flick¬ 
ered across the giant’s scarred face, but brushing 
the stranger aside, he, too, departed. 

Barca followed warily, hesitatingly. On the 
threshold, he turned, asking: 

“Master, who are you?” 

“I am known as ‘The Disciple whom the Lord 
loved’,” was the quiet response, and dropping to 
his knees on the broken flagstones, the aged 
Hebrew bowed his head in prayer. 


[ 74 ] 



CHAPTER XII 


benjamin’s perfidy 






CHAPTER XII 
benjamin’s perfidy 

CiESAREA, embosomed among purple cliffs cov¬ 
ered with Lebanon cedars, lay white and glisten¬ 
ing, and the Temple to Augustus Caesar, rising 
from green, terraced gardens, stood out in clear- 
cut outlines against the waving, emerald grape¬ 
vines of the lower hills. 

In the spacious harbor, the sunshine broke 
over gilded prows of grotesque shapes,—of 
crocodiles, dragons and mythical steeds,—above 
which whirled flocks of broad-winged gulls. 

At the city’s docks, numerous triremes, their 
banks of oars at rest, were disgorging distin¬ 
guished Romans and visitors. Here, too, were 
discernible, sullen-vis aged slaves, both white and 
black, loading and unloading the cargoes of many 
lands. And at other points along the water¬ 
front, long lines of men in flowing garb,—con¬ 
demned to work in African mines until released 
by the merciful hand of death,—manacled one to 
another, were being driven aboard waiting vessels. 

From one of the triremes, flute notes of a won¬ 
drous sweetness, of a pathetic sadness, floated 
[ 77 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


over the clear waters and intermingled with the 
melodious song of the fisherfolks in their barks 
far out at sea, and Carbo, standing beside the 
musician sighed wearily. 

Somewhere on the distant range, Benjamin 
held aloft a stained dagger and gazed with horror 
at the dead centurion lying before him. No 
triumph was there in the merchant’s eyes at thus 
escaping his captor,—only fear, deathly fear. He 
threw away his weapon and hurried down the 
steep, rocky path; turned abruptly and fled into 
the thick underbrush, for he had seen approach¬ 
ing the erstwhile chieftain of the Vespae. 

So desperately and blindly did Benjamin flee, 
that before he realized their nearness, he was in 
the midst of a score or more Roman legionaries. 
The horror in his eyes changed to terror; then, 
as quickly, to triumph, and falling upon his knees, 
he cried: 

“Save me! O Romans, save me!” 

“For what? Titus’ Triumph?” asked one, fol¬ 
lowed by coarse laughter from his comrades. 

“From one who seeks my life because I saw 
him slay a centurion,” answered the merchant, 
and pointing with shaking finger, declared: “Up 
yonder lies the body of the centurion. Come, if 
you swear to protect me, and I will show you his 
murderer,—one Barca, a nomad of the desert.” 

* * 3if 


[ 78 ] 



BENJAMIN’S PERFIDY 


Thus it was that Benjamin gained his free¬ 
dom from Fronto, the Roman judge, and Barca, 
in chains, was thrust into a Caesarean prison 
awaiting the execution of his sentence of death. 


[ 79 ] 




/ .' 







CHAPTER XIII 


THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALt 



CHAPTER XIII 


THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL 

Daily, in the arena at Caesarea, scores of Jewish 
men were being slaughtered; some the prey of 
wild beasts, some of flames. Others, formed 
into companies of equal strength and pitted one 
against the other fought with the desperate fury 
of the cornered. 

Every morning, long lines of captives emerged 
from the hamlets nestling in the arms of the great 
cedar covered mountains, and moved over the 
rock-slab roads to the city. They were led along 
broad tessellated avenues, flanked on either side 
by tall buildings, and beautified with monuments 
and statues of Roman and Greek deities. Through 
thoroughfares crowded with shining equipages 
and richly canopied litters of the wealthy; along 
streets filled with droves of asses and diminutive 
donkeys, and creaking ox-drawn carts laden heav¬ 
ily with country produce. They passed, too, 
flocks of bleating sheep and herds of lowing 
cattle, being brought to Caesarea to supply the 
soldiery and visitors with meat. 

Slowly, the prisoners wended their way to 
the docks where awaited restless triremes and 
183 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


sailing vessels ready to convey them to the vari¬ 
ous Roman provinces, for Provincials, also, must 
celebrate Titus’ victory in festivities of blood. 

* * * 

Fascinated with a shaft of sunshine which 
sifted through the narrow barred opening far 
above his head, Barca followed its course across 
his darkened cell to the wall beyond. And there, 
bathed in the bright rays, he read these words: 

“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou 
shalt be saved.” 

The letters grew less distinct, disappeared and 
others gradually took shape before his now 
searching orbs: 

“Bring my soul out of prison that I may praise 
thy Name,” and underneath was inscribed, “Saul 
of Tarsus.” 

During the long, black hours which followed, 
Barca paced back and forth the stones worn 
smooth by the feet of the great Apostle, who 
had languished here for two years before going 
to suffer martydom in Rome. And, as the blazing 
torch of a guardsman, moving down the corridor, 
heralded the dawn of another day, Its flickering 
light fell upon the bowed head and kneeling figure 
of a nomad of the Sahara. 


[ 84 ] 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE LAST OF THE BARCAS 




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CHAPTER XIV 


THE LAST OF THE BARCAS 

On the last day of the Caesarean celebrations,—■ 
supposedly in honor of Titus’ brother’s birthday, 
—it was unnecessary to spread awnings to protect 
the spectators from the elements, for the winter’s 
day in this semi-tropical land was mild and balmy 
and the friendly sun shone, serene, in a cloudless 
sky. 

The streams which in sultry weather, flowed,, 
at intervals, in open, hollow troughs, were dry. 
But elaborately sculptured, bronze fountains sent 
forth sparkling sprays of the richest and most 
fragrant of Eastern aromatics, and spirals of 
smoke floated lazily upward from great vases of 
burning perfumes. 

Flowers of many kinds and hues, together with 
green ivy, myrtle boughs and slender, feathery 
ferns, and tied with cords of gold, were entwined 
about the seats, and, also, separated the sections 
reserved for various classes and nationalities. 

One segment was distinguished from the others 
by gold fringed, purple ribbons and cushions of 
softest velvet, upon the covers of which were ar- 
tistically embroidered scenes from the OlympiaR 
[ 87 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


games. Again, painted in brilliant colors, fables 
of Grecian deities; Phoebus riding across the zen¬ 
ith of the heavens in his chariot of fire, drawn 
by prancing steeds; Venus rising nude from the 
white foam of the sea; and Cupid, holding to 
bow, his never-failing arrow. Here, too, in shin¬ 
ing armour, sat Titus, the Conqueror, and be¬ 
side him, the beautiful Berenice,—sister of the 
Agrippa before whom Paul pleaded,—and be¬ 
hind them Augustians and Tribunes with their 
wives and daughters attired in robes of Tyrian 
dye or white flowing mantles. 

On the oppoiste side of the amphitheatre, a 
number of sections were occupied entirely by 
provincials and mercenaries chattering in many 
languages and gaming their wages and spoils 
upon every conceivable happening in the gory 
arena. Here sat long-haired Gauls, black-eyed 
Spaniards, swarthy Numidian horsemen and 
flaxon-haired, blue-eyed warriors from wild Ger¬ 
mania. 

Also, represented in goodly numbers, cavalry¬ 
men from Thrace; slingers from the Balearic 
Islands, whose ancestors like the Numidians, had 
for centuries fought in the armies of Carthage. 
Deadly bowmen there were, too, from the Island 
of Crete, and dark-skinned javelin throwers from 
Mauretania. 

On either side of these alien troops could be 
seen the jeering, laughing legionaries of Rome, 
[ 88 ] 



THE LAST OF THE BARCAS 


whose crested helmets and bronze-scale corselets 
reflected brilliantly the almost vertical rays of the 
sun. 

The section to the left of Caesar’s was occupied 
to overflowing with civilians from the city and 
visitors from neighboring countries. 

Now and then the gaze of Titus wandered 
from the face of Berenice to the blood-soaked 
arena, or rested admiringly upon the nearly naked 
giant walking on the high, granite, enclosing wall. 
And the oftener that Titus noted the breadth of 
shoulders, the thick, corded neck, the deep, hair^r 
chest and the bulging muscles moving easily be¬ 
neath the dark-brown skin, the more pleased was 
he with this new addition to his bodyguard. 

Fronto, the judge, finding no fault with Taurus, 
when the latter was brought before him by a band 
of legionaries, had sent the giant to Titus but with 
advice that chains, for the time being, be left upon 
the desertman. 

But Taurus, apparently, was oblivious to his 
new master’s appraising eyes, as of those of the 
soldiery and citizency. Abstractedly, he paced 
the walls the full length of his chains. 

* * 

The games had ended; the last of the Hebrew 
captives had been thrown to wild beast or other¬ 
wise ruthlessly slain for the amusement of the 
spectators, who now rose from tiered seats in 
[ 89 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


wave after wave. But as the martial blast of 
trumpets resounded and a clarion’s note filled 
the air, they settled themselves again among their 
cushions, or upon the hard seats, to await the 
finale. 

The great, ornamented, iron gates to the east 
were flung wide and burnished chariots, drawn by 
capering stallions, caparisoned with multi-colored 
ribbons and streamers, swept grandly in. In each 
four or five handsome Jewish youths huddled to¬ 
gether fearfully. Cheers, hoots and insults were 
hurled at them as the long lin« encircled the ex¬ 
tensive arena. 

When these young men, who would grace,— 
and die in,—^Titus’ Triumph at Rome, passed 
from view, cumbersome, ox-drawn wagons ap¬ 
peared, containing in closely barred cages, scores 
of savage beasts: tawny-maned lions from 
Africa; enormous, shaggy, black bears from the 
dense forests of Russia; snarling black-striped 
tigers, and panthers, ever moving restlessly within 
their narrow confines. 

In others of the wagons, spotted leopards from 
Southern Arabia, reclined at ease, licking their 
huge paws, and hyenas, grinning fiendishly, as the 
procession moved slowly along. 

Next, a black slave, bearing on his stooped 
shoulders, cross-beams of cedar, entered; fol¬ 
lowed by others with spades and various tools. 

A hush fell over the assemblage as with labor- 
[ 90 ] 



THE LAST OF THE BARCAS 


ing step the slave bore his ominous burden to 
the center of the arena and rumors passed from 
mouth to mouth: “It is for the murderer of Plan- 
cus, the centurion.” Among the Provincials and 
Mercenaries, wagers were laid as to whether or 
not the condemned would falter; whether or not 
he would kneel toward Titus, imploring forgive¬ 
ness,—mercy. 

Thousands leant forward, craining their necks 
the better to see the lone figure emerge from the 
shadows near the gates. For a brief moment, 
the man hesitated, awed and bewildered by the 
intense silence, the splendor and gorgeous array 
of colors, but recovering, he threw back his shoul¬ 
ders and with head held high, looking neither to 
right nor left, advanced with quickening step to¬ 
ward the perspiring slaves in the the middle of 
the arena. 

He was stripped of his mantle; laid with out¬ 
stretched arms upon the cross and iron spikes 
were driven through the palms of his hands and 
the soles of his feet. His figure was raised aloft 
and the upright beam dropped into the hole pre¬ 
pared for it. 

Thus, in deathly silence," the last; of the Barcas, 
in agony, hung upon a Roman cross, 

>|s 3j: ^ 

Carbo led his daughter,—in whose eyes still 
lingered a dazed stare of unbelief,—from the 
[ 91 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


section of the nobles. And in those seats reserved 
for civilians, the haunted eyes of a withered, hag¬ 
gard, old man seemingly saw the bronzed skin of 
the nomad pale and a crown of thorns appear 
upon the bowed head. He covered his face with 
trembling hands; looked again, and groaned, for 
hanging upon the cross, Benjamin saw, not the 
Barca, but One whom he had helped to crucify 
forty years before I 


[ 92 ] 



CHAPTER XV 


THE MAGIC OF THE FLUTE 



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CHAPTER XV 


THE MAGIC OF THE FLUTE 

Once more, the gates were flung open and two 
long, enclosed carts entered. Rumor passed 
quickly about that within these cumbersome vehi¬ 
cles were new and strange wonders with which to 
enhance the triumphal shows In Rome. Tumul¬ 
tuous shouts arose from some sections of the 
amphitheatre, but the thousands of Provincials 
and Mercenaries voiced their displeasure with 
hisses, hoots, oaths and jeers. They had been 
dismissed from further service and ordered home¬ 
ward, and, like many now sullen legionaries des¬ 
tined to remain In Judea for months, resented the 
favoritism thus shown to the citizens of the 
capital. 

And as the carts moved forward, their curi¬ 
osity not satisfied by so much as a glimpse of the 
contents, with one accord, Spaniards, Thracians, 
Cretans, Numidians, and others, surged like an 
angry sea upon the sand-strewn arena. 

The terrified drivers lashed their steeds and 
turned sharply to the left; but, within a few feet 
of the Barca’s cross, they were engulfed by the 
waves of humanity. With side-arms and bare 
[ 95 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


hands, the alien troopers tore at the coverings 
of the boxed-carts; others, cut loose the rearing, 
plunging horses, which frenzied with fear, dashed 
wildly around and out of the arena. 

The uproar grew deafening; some condemning, 
some applauding the howling mob, but suddenly, 
the cries of the discontents changed into those of 
horror, of pain. The tumult became still more 
deafening, and Barca saw beneath and about him 
a melee of soldiers of many nationalities, running, 
pushing and fighting their way to the exits. He 
saw, too, moving with rapidity, hither and thither, 
the swaying bodies and darting fangs of the 
dreaded cobra of India. 

Legionaries now entered the arena and re¬ 
moved with grappling hooks, the mangled bodies 
of those who had fallen beneath the maddening 
rush of the rioters; assisting, also, others who 
staggered or rolled about in convulsions,—^victims 
of the darting serpents. 

Swarthy Numidians, more accustomed to the 
capture of reptiles, having first repaired the cart, 
tried to imprison the cobras with forked sticks, 
but without success, for their movements were 
slow and awkward under the weight of unaccus¬ 
tomed armour,—a protection they insisted upon. 

To those safely beyond the reach of the poison¬ 
ous fangs, this unexpected scene was the most 
thrilling of all the many events, and so thought 
Titus until nets which were next brought proved 
[ 96 ] 



THE MAGIC OF THE FLUTE 


to be of too large a mesh. Thwarted in his desire 
to have the prizes returned to their cage un¬ 
harmed, it probably would have brooded ill for 
the alien troops, had not flute notes,—infinitely 
sweet and tender,—reached his ears. Now like 
the laughter of running water; now like the 
drowsy melody of whispering trees. 

With bated breath, the multitude saw the lis¬ 
some figure of a desert girl, a silver flute to her 
scarlet lips, enter the arena and advance slowly 
toward the serpents now forming an almost com¬ 
pact body about the cross of the motionless Barca. 

Now weird, fantastic, the wild strains of the 
music; faster and faster the cadence, as this 
daughter of the dunes flung herself into a dance 
so novel, so full of passionate abandon, so bar¬ 
baric that the spectators were enthralled, hypno¬ 
tized. 

The figure on the cross stirred; the head 
slightly lifted; a smile spread over the pain-dis¬ 
torted features, and the blood-shot eyes lit with 
understanding and love. Then, a shadow crossed 
the Barca’s face and his head fell forward upon 
his naked breast. 

With quivering tongues and swelling hoods, 
the cobras swayed from side to side in perfect 
rhythm to the accompaniment of the tempestuous 
chords. Once more, the strains grew soft and 
subdued and thousands gasped as the maiden, un¬ 
dulating through the slow and intricate mazes of 
[ 97 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


mystic dance, raised aloft a writhing, venomous 
serpent and lowered it gently Into the cage. 

Again and again, the flute-girl, playing and 
dancing the while, captured, one by one, the 
deadly cobras. At last, the opening of the cart 
closed; the warbling notes ceased; the flute fell 
to the ground, and Carmina knelt on the sands 
and lifted supplicating arms toward Titus. 

Legionary, Provincial, Mercenary, and Civilian 
leaped wildly to their feet and burst Into tumul¬ 
tuous cheers; cheers that echoed and re-echoed 
from the surrounding hills, and which sent 
showers of sparks and dense spirals of smoke 
curling upward from the bronze censers. 

But the applause stopped abruptly: cries of 
horror, of warning rent the air, above which 
resounded the piercing screams and shrieks of 
women. Titus’ face became ashen; Taurus stood 
still, the frown on his brow deepened, his muscles 
grew taut; and, the silvery-haired Carbo, strug¬ 
gling helplessly in the arms of friends, lifted his 
eyes to Heaven and cried: “O, Christ Savior, 
have mercy, have mercy I” 


[ 98 ] 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 





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CHAPTER XVI 

THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 

The massive chest of Taurus swelled, the cords 
of his thick neck stood out rigidly, the great 
muscles of his back and shoulders bulged as he 
gripped the Iron chain which bound his ankle and 
twisted the links apart. 

The spectators, intent upon watching the huge 
python which had emerged from the second of 
the two carts, knew not of the giant’s presence 
on that plain of death until he had sped past the 
trembling, exhausted girl and stood with clenched 
fists, facing the on-rushing monster. 

Their cries were hushed, and a silence so tense, 
so ominous, that the labored breathing of the 
flute-girl could be heard and the grating, too, of 
the boa as It twisted and swirled forward,—its 
head lifted high and Its eyes like living coals of 
fire. 

The now gasping multitude fancied they saw 
the desertman’s right fist shoot forward; miss Its 
mark; fancied, also, they saw the grappling fingers 
of his left hand brushed aside by the great, gaping 
fangs. But such the rapidity of the constrictor’s 
movements, they knew only that the trunk of the 
[ 101 ] 


THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


giant was encircled by many thicknesses of deadly 
coils. 

The short, prehensive tail of the python swung 
upward and entwined itself around and around 
Taurus’ uplifted left arm: the wide-opened, saliva 
covered jaws showed rows of long, curving teeth 
and forked tongue. Slowly, surely, the extended 
arm was lowered; was pinioned to the giant’s side. 
The coils contracted, huge knots appeared under 
the greenish scales: the scars on the desertman’s 
face became livid and where uncovered by the 
folds of the relentless monster, the muscles of 
his body and limbs stood out like heavy bands 
of bronze. 

Nowhere in all that throng as the shadows of 
evening stole across the tiers upon tiers of silent, 
engrossed humanity, was there one who thought 
of aiding Taurus, who alone, unarmed and clothed 
only in a loin cloth, was meeting the reptile before 
which fled in terror beasts of held and jungle. 
One and all, from Titus to the humblest slave 
watched in fascinated, helpless horror as the 
man’s right arm, torn and bleeding, warded off 
every attempt of the python to pierce his face 
with its frothing fangs. Beads of perspiration 
appeared on the faces of the on-lookers and their 
own muscles grew taut as if, they too, were strug¬ 
gling for their lives. 

Wildly, Taurus beat with his free elbow against 
the crushing folds and sunk his teeth into the 
[ 102 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


greenish scales. He reeled forward; regained his 
equilibrium, but the great muscles of his chest and 
shoulders, for the nonce had slackened,—^the coils 
had tightened I 

His strength ebbed; his breath came in fright¬ 
ful gasps; his tongue lolled from side to side; his 
eyes grew glazed, and blood spurted from his 
ears, nose and mouth. Both arms were now help¬ 
less beneath the powerful folds and above him 
towered the dripping fangs. 

Carmina, who had watched as had the others, 
in fascinated horror, now recovered her presence 
of mind and picking up her flute there floated again 
in air the subduing melodies of unknown lands. 
The strains swelled and ebbed, the head and neck 
of the boa began to sway rythmically; the coils 
loosened, unwound; Taurus staggered free. And 
there on the sand-strewn arena, the great African 
creature, bewitched, rocked to and fro. 

A shiver ran through the multitude as Taurus 
grasped and lifted the squirming boa: an audible 
sigh of relief as he dropped his terrible burden 
into the cage and secured the door. 

Bedlam broke loose,—all shouting, all acclaim¬ 
ing. Hundreds leaped into the arena; the air 
vibrated and the earth shook beneath the tramp 
and rush of many feet. 

But again, Taurus reeled forward,—fell; and, 
as the throng reached his prone form, some drew 
back, crossing themselves and murmuring, for, 
[ 103 ] 



THE FIGURE IN THE SAND 


carved by the dead giant’s finger in the white 
sands of the arena was—the bloody figure of a 
cross! 

* * 

Carmina ran forward and knelt before the 
throne of Titus. 

“Arise, brave daughter,” commanded the Con¬ 
queror. “Ask of me what you will.” 

“Give me yon Nomad,” she whispered, point¬ 
ing to the crucified Barca. 


[ 104 ] 



CHAPTER XVII 


AMID THE SAND DUNES 




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CHAPTER XVII 


AMID THE SAND DUNES 

Carbo once more as governor dwelt in the land 
of his beloved Nekla while somewhere in the 
East, a hoary-haired, haunted, old man, forever 
wandering from place to place, stove in vain to 
forget. 

And in the ruins of a hut, surrounded by glim¬ 
mering ridges of sand, a desert maid was re-writ- 
ing in the records of the Barcas, the name of the 
man beside her, adding: 

“A follower of The Christ; a fisher of men.” 

With scarred hands the man raised her beauti¬ 
ful face to his. “Come, Carmina,” he whispered, 
“for tomorrow we must journey far to spread the 
glad story. Come, my own I” 

sis jjc 

Again the heat of the desert sun waned; ever- 
deepening shadows crept upward from the val¬ 
leys. And, as the stars came out, one by one, 
flute notes of a joyful, passionate sweetness filled 
the air and went soaring over the billowing sand 
dunes of the Sahara and the dead oasis of the 
Barcas. 

The End 


[ 107 ] 







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